Never Ever
by aggyloveslife
Summary: Sonny hates her life on the estate! She cant stand living next to Chad Dylan Cooper either. Chad on the other hand loves his live on the estate , well he is the king around there. And now Sonny Munroe has moved next door.Its better than the summary!
1. Chapter 1

_**Sonny can't stand living on the estate. She wishes could go back to her old house, with its nice garden, her own room, and a phone! She can't stand living near Chad Dylan Cooper either – he's such a jerk. He may be good – looking, but he knows it – and everyone knows that looks aren't everything.**_

**Chad loves his life on the estate. Well, he is the king round here, after all. The girls adore him, the boys respect him. And now Sonny Munroe has moved in the road, things couldn't be better. She's playing it cool, but surely it's only a matter of time before she gives in to his charms...**


	2. What's it like having period?

**SPOW**

My mornings were not the same any more. Until two weeks ago, I'd had my own room, with sloping ceilings and open shelving, Magritte posters, and _privacy._ Now there's ten square feet of Aston Villa wallpaper and a tacky metal window to be shared with Zora, the middle one. Annoyingly, Zora couldn't share with Demitria, the youngest, because the third bedroom here was so – what would an estate agent say? – so _compact_, the headboard had been sawn off to get Demi's bed into the room.

Today, Zora was plaguing me with stupid questions.

'What's it like having a period?' she asked.

'Fantastic,' I told her, brushing my hair.

'Really?'

'Really. You don't stop laughing for four days – five if you're lucky.'

'Megan Weeks has started hers. She's allowed to get changed for Games in the stock cupboard.'

'Those are only _some_ of the perks,' I replied, throwing down the brush and searching for my shoes. I got down on all fours and squinted beneath the bed, laddering my only pair of decent tights on the bare floorboards. '_Merde,_' I said under my breath.

'Do you use pads or tampons?' Zora pursued.

'Neither. I stuff an old pair of socks in my pants and hope for the best,' I replied.

'No you don't! You use both. I've seen them.'

'Why ask, then?' I was getting mad now. I couldn't find my shoes and I'd got about five seconds before the bus arrived and my eleven – year – old sister was revealing things about me she has no right to know, and wouldn't know if my stupid parents hadn't messed up and lost our house and made us move to this bum hole.

Apparently, through, I was lucky. According to my mother, we'd been fortunate to get a council house so quickly, especially one on the York Estate. The York Estate had a good reputation. It was well know people on this estate won competitions for 'best kept garden' and had a _zero tolerance policy _on vandalism. And we're even on The Close, with a grassy area to look out on , instead of being overlooked. Its quite nice, really.

'Course it is. It's _quite nice_ living in a house without a telephone so I can't talk to my friends when I feel like it. It's _quite nice _waiting at the bus stop with the Scrunchie Girls every morning staring wordlessly at you. It's _quite nice_ being told 'you're very posh' in the newsagents when all you did was ask for some Tictacs.

You could say I was finding it hard to adjust.

' If you're looking for your shoes , they're downstairs,' Zora eventually revealed. 'Dad was cleaning them last night.'

'Part of his community service order, was it?' I spat.

'What do you mean?'

'Nothing.' I said, knowing Mum would be livid if I explained, and left her to wallow in the luxury of our shared cell.


	3. Like it or lump it

**SPOW**

Downstairs , mum was trying to convince six – year – old Demi porridge was good for her. 'It tastes of frogs' skin,' Demi moaned.

'Like it or lump it,' mum replied. She glanced at me but I looked away. We'd had a corker of a row last night and I wasn't ready for eye contact yet. 'Cutting it fine again, Sonny,' she said casually as I slipped into my well – polished footwear. I chose not to reply, and shrugged my way round the table towards the back door. I had to breath in because the table's massive and takes up all the floor space. As I struggled past, I snagged my tights again on one of its bulbous legs. 'Great! My last decent pair! I don't know why you didn't auction this thing off with all the other stuff!' I snapped.

'You know full well why not, Sonny,' mum replied calmly.

'It's a special table, isn't it, mum? That's why you mustn't spill Ribena on it or draw smiley faces using felt pens,' Demi informed us gravely.

Yeah, yeah; the table was special, the table was unique. It had been handed down through three generations on my mother's side. It was an heirloom, a reminder of better days, and I loved it, too, when I was in a good mood and had tights to spare.

'Got your dinner money?' Mum asked.

'Yes,' I sighed, already halfway through the back door.

'We'll talk tonight,' she said.

'Can't wait,' I replied with just the right amount of sarcasm before disappearing.

'Love you,' she called after me.

I didn't respond. It was probably the briefest conversation I'd ever had with her before school.

Like I said, my mornings weren't the same any more.


	4. I'm not that bad

**SPOW**

At the bus stop, the Scrunchie girls stared vacuously ahead. They all looked alike, these slapperettes; died hair with bad root – jobs, the dead ends all held fast by cheap Lycra scrunchie hairbands. One of them, Portlyn Maddison, is in my year, Year Ten **(14-15)**; the others are Year Nines **(13-14)**. I noticed Portlyn ( three scrunchies) had a huge love – bite on her neck, the size of a Ritz cracker, that she was showing off to the others. Our new head teacher, Mr Riddick, would be down on her like a ton of breeze – blocks if he saw it. Love – bites were definitely not part of his 'new vision' for Adams High.

The bus was late. I was dying to get to school but the bus was late and along came Chad Dylan Cooper. Maybe, just maybe, moving could have been bearable, but when I discovered we were going to be living on The Close with _him_, I knew my life was over. Chad – I – may – be – thick – but – I - think – I'm – gorgeous Dylan Cooper. Chad – I – will – wreck – your – lesson – but – I'm – a – laugh, aren't I? Dylan Cooper. Chad – I've – just – come – back – from – Minorca – what – are – you – doing – here – Munroe? Dylan Cooper.

'What are you doing here, Munroe?' he asked.

'Minding my own business,' I answered.

He grinned. His white teeth shone, enhanced by his mid – term, unauthorized tan. He is very, very good – looking in an obvious football star sort of way. Fortunately, having excellent taste, I'm immune. Tawni, my best friend, wanted to have his babies.

'Wotcha, Port,' he greeted he, 'nice neck.'

'Port' blushed and covered he love – bite with her hand, as if she only just remembered it was there. 'It was Nico. We were just messing about.'

'I'll bet you were,' Chad replied meaningfully.

Ah, Nico. Nico Harris, best friend of Cooper and fellow pain in the love – bitten neck. Both in my form. Lucky, lucky, lucky girl that I am. Sadly, Cooper returned his attention to me and I cursed all forms of public transport. 'Come on, through, random, what _are_ you doing here? It's a bit far from your end, isn't it?' he asked.

As if I'd reply after the random bit. Curse funniness. Curse Road Car Buses.

'She moved here the day after you went on vacation,' Portlyn informed him on my behalf. 'Lives where the Walesbys were before they got evicted.' She glanced sourly at me before continuing. 'They've not been on the corporation list two minutes either, my mum says. Our Nicola would have loved that house but they won' give her a three bedroom with only one baby.'

Well, sor – ee for existing, Mrs Maddison. I can assure you if I had my way 'your' Nicola could have it this minute. Cooper laughed, as if reading my thoughts, and punched me in the arm. 'Welcome to my world!' he joked. I couldn't return his smile. I have seen _his_ house – houses – numbers nine and ten. They were unbelievably awful – pond, gnomes, fake wishing well, fake Mediterranean shutters against diamond – studded UPVC windows – the full fake works.

I turned away and fixed my eyes on the row of shops opposite, preferring the sight of a dog peeing against a letter box to Suntan Boy. I heard Portlyn ask if he'd be going to the 'Centre' that night. She tried to sound casual but you could tell she hoped he'd say 'yes'. I could feel all the other little Scrunchies pricking up their ears to hear God's Gift's reply. 'Might do, might not,' he concluded. There was a collective, oestrogen – laden sigh. Tomorrow, I'd be walking on the next bus stop.

Grady was waiting for me as I arrived. At least this part of my morning hadn't changed. Grady always timed his walk to school so that he met me off the bus, then together we waited for everyone else. I have three very close friends – Tawni Hart and Selena Gomez, whom I've known since Primary School **(5 – 11), **and Grady Mitchell, who has hung out with us since Year Seven **(11 – 12). **We're very protective of Grady; he gets called Gayboy a lot because he knocks around with us instead of gobbing on pavements and smelling of BO like some of the moronic males at Adams High. He is not gay but he's definitely a bit of a victim. The fact that his mum, who's a vicar, buys his clothes second – hand doesn't help and I noticed he'd been experimenting with his sideburns again but thought it best not to comment. ' Have you had a phone installed yet?' he asked as we headed for the main entrance where Selena was waiting.

'Negative.'

'I tried phoning that box number – you know – the one on Newstead Road, where I phoned you last time?'

'Aha.'

'This bloke answered and tried to sell me some hash!'

'I hope you said no.'

'Well, duh!'

'Cos I can get it much cheaper.'

'So when _are _you getting one put in? It took me three hours to do my maths last night,' Grady moaned.

I just gave it to him straight. 'We're not, the Munroe's are going to be the only family in the entire western world without a telephone.'

'You're kidding!'

'I wish. I had a massive row with mum about it last night.'

Grady looked concerned. 'You and your mum never row.'

'Oh, don't we?' I muttered.

'What are you going to do?'

'Save up for a mobile,' One they wouldn't know about and therefore couldn't confiscate.

'Obvious solution. O Wise One.'

'I thought so.'

Trouble was, my pocket money had been halved until 'things sorted themselves out' too, but I couldn't tell anyone that. There are only so many embarrassing disclosures you can make in one day. Instead, I broke the news to Selena that she would be in charge of steering Grad through his maths until further notice. She glanced away and sid hard, prompting Grady to protest that he wasn't _that _bad. 


	5. Your mum'll be fine

**SPOW**

Tawni was waiting for me outside French. She grinned her big grin, braces glinting beneath the subdue (i.e. broken) lighting of the corridor, then pounced. 'Son!' (She always calls me Son) 'Is he back? Have you seen him? Have you asked him out for me yet?' she spouted.

No point pretending I didn't know who 'he' was. 'It was wonderful,' I said.

'What was?'

'Sex with Cooper – it lasted all night, despite his jet lag. He says I'm the best lover he's ever had.' She kicked the back of my heel. 'Watch it,' I said, 'they've been polished.'

Best friend leaned heavily against a poster of Mont St Michel and sighed like a Schrunchie. I tried not to notice that it looked as if castle turrets were sticking out of her head. 'To think you live within walking distance of him. How lucky is that? Do you think your mum'd adopt me? I'd be good.'

'Tawni, he's a pig and slime-ball,' I said.

She pondered for a second. 'I object to the term ''slime – ball'' but will accept pig because it's a well – known fact all good – looking blokes are pigs. When can I sleep over?'

'When your taste improves.'

'Bitch.'

'Cow.'

'Slapper.'

'Girls! Really! If you are going to insult each other outside my room do so in the appropriate way!' Mr Whitehead, our French teacher, instructed us.

Tawni straightened to allow him to pass, the turrets disappearing into her hair. '_Vache!'_ she continued.

'_Cochon.'_

'_Bouton visage.'_

'_Derriere plus grande !'_

'_Salope !'_

'That's much better.' Mr Whitehead nodded approvingly as he opened the classroom door.

I love French, and Mr Whitehead's ace. He makes lessons interesting by telling us stories and stupid anecdotes about what he got up during his year as an impoverished student in Paris. For example, did you know that they'd cut Napoleon's syphilitic knob off and pickled it? After he'd died, of course. I haven't eaten gherkins since.

Today, though, we were actually doing some work. Mr Whitehead had apologized, explaining the Head **(head teacher – principal) **expected it of top sets, so we agreed to the assignment _this_ time, providing he didn't make a habit of it. I was well away, booking a twin room for three nights with breakfast and evening meal in l'hôtel de Ginola, when I felt Tawni's leg bash into mine, followed by a strange gurling sound coming from her throat.

I looked up to see Mme Crecy, the exchange teacher, gesticulating wildly to Mr Whitehead; her eyes brimming with tears, her face as pink as a summer pudding. Behind her, Cooper and Harris hung their heads, trying hard not to laugh in case more sawdust fell out. Mr Whitehead gave them a dead – eye and assured Madame he'd 'sort it'. He ordered them to sit in the only two spare places he had – right behind us. Tawni's gurgling stopped abruptly, along with her breathing. I wondered exactly when I'd have to give her mouth – to – mouth.

'We meet again, Munroe,' Pooper whispered. Mr Whitehead immediately slapped a detention slip in front of him, saving me the bother of a reply. _I can feel his breath on my neck,_ Tawni scribbled on her file paper. _Think yourself lucky you can't smell it, _I scribbled back, and returned to my work.

Mr Whitehead asked us to pack away early because he had an announcement to make. Immediately, he began dispensing handout, talking as he walked along the rows. 'Owing to the mental instability of my department, we have decided to arrange a Year Ten trip to France next Easter. We'll be staying for five nights in a hostel in the medieval walled city of Combourg in Normandy. During our stay we will visit Bayeux, home of needlework, and venture to Paris for a day. Price is fully inclusive of everything, except money for drink and drugs, but places are limited so it's first come, first served. We'll need a deposit of fifty pounds as soon as possible to guarantee a place. And may the Lord have mercy on our souls.'

A trip to France! I wanted to go so much but one glance at the price was enough to make my heart sink. 'Seriously though, this trip will be particularly useful for practising your oral and aural skills before next year's exam, especially those of you wanting a good grade to go on to do A/S level,' Mr Whitehead continued.

'That means us, Son,' Tawni said. 'Are we going?'

'It depends,' I replied.

Mr Whitehead, who must have been standing behind us, leaned down and said, 'You'd better be going, Sonny, I need at least some students with me who won't show me up!'

I folded the handout neatly and slid it into my planner.

'I wonder why he never said that to us?' Nico wisecracked as we all rose to leave.

At lunchtime we joined up with Selena and Grady in the dining hall. They'd had the same details from Mme Crecy and said they were definitely going on the trip. It was all right for them. Selena had infinite guilt – money from her dad (your classic case of 'I'm sorry I ran off and left you all, darling; have a pony' parenting). Grady was more of the 'our son needs all the help he can get when it comes to education, where do we sign?' variety.

'How come Chad and Nico were kicked out of your lesson?' Tawni asked them. It never took her long to bring the subject round to _him._

Selena rolled her eyes. 'They just know how to wind her up,' she said dully.

'They sat behind us,' Tawni said dreamily, trying to get a chip in her mouth and missing. 'I could fell Chad's breath on my neck.'

'Oh, for God's sake, haven't you anything better to think about?' Selena snapped.

We stared at her. Selena Marie Gomez never snaps. She's Miss Placid. She reads Jane Austen. She saves whales. She does not snap. 'What's wrong?' Tawni asked.

Selena lowered her eyes. 'It's my mum, she's found a lump on her breast.'

'Oh no,' Tawni whispered.

'She's going to the hospital for tests today. I wanted to go with her but she wouldn't let me. What if it's cancer? What if she dies?'

'She won't,' I said trying to reassure her.

Selena looked at me, her eyes glittering. 'Sophie and me would have to go and stay with Dad in that stupid barn conversion and live with that stupid cow he's shacked up with. I'd rather kill myself,'

Grady put his arms around Selena's shoulders, hugging her. 'Your mum'll be fine,' he told her.


	6. Go on, tell me

**SPOW**

Selena's distress made me think about my mum on the way home; how I'd frozen her out this morning, not said 'Love you too,' as I usually did, just because of a stupid telephone. What if _she_ found a lump on her breast? Or what if she was already dead? Killed in a road accident taking Zora and Demi to school? There were some crappy junctions on the road into town, she was always saying so. I could see her flying through the window screen, her head smashed to a pulp like a ripe tomato. Tears pricked my eyes as I began to plan the funeral. I'd have to organize everything because Dad would be too distraught. Burial or cremation? Flowers or wreaths or both or neither? Which song? Her favourite was 'Perfect Day'. Not appropriate.

I was so lost in my morbid thoughts, I didn't notice Pooper plonking himself down next to me until it was too late. 'Now then, random,' he greeted me.

I sighed peevishly. Yes, Chad, I still have humour, just like I did this morning. Yes, it is natural. No, I do not want to be a Breakfast TV presenter. How to put this message across as simply as possible? 'Bog off,' I replied.

'Tch! That's no way to greet a neighbour,'

'I might live near you, it doesn't mean I have to talk to you,' I barked. Couldn't he see I had things on my mind?

'Why _wouldn't _you talk to me?' he asked. He sounded hurt.

I glanced at him. He was looking at me inquisitively, the blue eyes Tawni dreamed about open and expectant.

'Forget it,' I said.

'I can't believe you're on The Close.'

'Why shouldn't I be?' I said defensively.

'It's just weird, like the queen moving into Coronation Street.'

'Yeah, right. It's just like that. Shouldn't you be kneeling?'

'how come, though? Portlyn says your dad's been sent down but Nico says he's seen him – he reckons you're doing _Lifeswaps_.'

I laughed out loud. 'I wish ,' I said. _Lifeswaps_ was one of those BBC documentaries where families from different backgrounds exchange lives fro a month – houses, incomes, social life – the lot. One wealthy woman from Yorkshire had fainted when she realized she'd only have one bathroom and would have to drive a T – reg Astra.

Pooper elbowed me again. Once more and I'd have him beheaded. 'Come on, then, tell me. You might as well, I'll only find out later from my mum.'

'Your mum?'

'Mrs Nosygit; she'll be wrecked when she discovers a new family moved in without her being there. I bet you ten quid she's been round to your already. She'll know your date of birth, how much you weighed when you were born, and what you had for breakfast this time last year.'

'God,' I said twisting round to look out the window.

'Go on,' he urged, 'tell me.'


	7. The last straw

**SPOW**

What happened next was very boring, and, I guess, not that unusual. About ten years ago, after my dad, Noel, had been made redundant from his teaching post and when everyone thought a _mouse pad_ was a hole in the skirting board, he had set up in business with his best friend, Steve Rawlinson, selling computers. Steve had invested capital but dad had invested our house, The Lodge, in Greenway Park, as security. Dad did all the promotions and 'people' side and Steve sorted out the accounts – or so we thought.

At first everything was doing great and there were jokes about retiring to Maldives etc. Then everyone set up computer outlets and the jokes stopped. Steve started to make cutbacks, like not paying taxes and VAT. Strangely enough, this was spotted, and Mr Taxman and Mr Vatman took M&R Computers to court. Mr Judge took away our house and gave Noel and Steve community service for being naughty boys. Noel and Steve had a big fall out and Steve moved to Leicester and we moved to The Close but no one lived happily ever after.

Dad's still doing his community service – two hundred hours of painting and decorating the youth and community centres in town. The theory is he's going to find another job as soon as he's finished and we'll be able to start again. 'All this is only temporary, Sonny,' mum had promised when we looked around the house on The Close. But I'd seen the changes in dad, the way he closed himself off from all of us when he came home, the way he either gazed blankly or shouted at mum when she put the Jobs page out for him. No way was 'this' only temporary. Not that I was going to tell Chad Dylan Cooper that. He nudged me in the arm. 'I'll show you around if you like,' he offered.

'Around where?'

'Everywhere. Introduce you to everyone, take you to The Centre.'

'No thanks.'

'Why not?'

For some reason- I don't know – maybe the 'queen' bit give me ideas, I found myself putting on a snobby accent. 'I doubt that I'll have anything in common with anyone. No offence.'

'Suit yourself.'

We sat in silence for a while. I wished he would go upstairs to sit with the Scrunchies and the smokers. I wondered why he hadn't. 'Are you going on the French trip?' ha asked.

'I haven't decided,' I mumbled.

'I am. A week off school, chatting up French birds. Try and stop me.'

'Can you afford it?' I asked voicing my own worries out loud but still in that fake posh voice.

Chad bridled. 'Sorry,' I said, returning to normal, 'that didn't come out the way I meant it.'

'No, I bet it didn't,' he scoffed.

I got my wish. Chad sloped off to the upper deck and I was left on my own.

'Don't you know he's loaded?' a voice said from behind. I turned to see one of the Year Nines (double-scrunchie, nose-stud) from this morning staring at me.

'So?' I shrugged.

The girl continued anyway, squelching gum as she talked. 'His dad, Tony, owns all the Pine Island shops. My dad works for him.'

'Super,' I said, hoping that would be an end to it.

'My dad says unemployment on the estate double if it wasn't for Tony Cooper .'

'Fascinating.'

'You should show Chad more respect,' she said tartly. That did it . I reached up and rang the bell for the next stop. I was half a mile too early but a final straw's a final atraw.


	8. She's growing up too, you know

**Hey! I am really sorry for not uploading in a very long time but I didn't had time with all the homework. I want to say thank you to everybody who reviewed. Also I want to give a shout out to **_smillingatthetv _**and **_randomsmileyperson. _**Thank you for reading this story. Ok enough of me talking. Enjoy! **

**SPOW**

I was in such a strop by the time I got home, I forgot to be relieved at the sight of my mother, alive and well and painting the kitchen window. Slamming my bag down on the table I asked what time dinner would be ready. Mum didn't turn around. She was in a precarious position, kneeling on the worktop, trying not to fall into the sink. 'It'll be ready when you've make it. Hello to you, too.'

'When I've made it?' I asked in disbelief. Had she felt the weight of homework in my bag?

She didn't turn around. 'I want to finish this. If I stop now I'll have to wash the brash out and I've hardly any turps left. It doesn't have to be anything special; chicken dippers and oven chips will do.'

That was it, then. We'd turned into a chicken dippers and oven chops mid-week, not just Fridays, family. I couldn't remember the last time we'd had something home baked and wholesome. It was all: 'get the economy brand' and 'put those back, we can't afford them' when we shopped now.

I couldn't stand it. 'Can I go phone Selena first?' I pleaded.

She sighed heavily, her shoulders drooping from somewhere within Dad's denim shirt. 'Can't it wait two minutes? You've been with her all day and the girls are hungry.'

'Even Zora could do oven chips,' I pointed out.

'Zora could, but I've asked you.'

'I won't be long. I promised I'd phone.'

Mum slapped some paint on to the sill. 'Go,' she said, 'just bloody go.'

I registered the 'bloody'. Chicken dippers, oven chips and a foul- mouthed mother. The slippery slope. I bloody went.

There's a double payphone on Newstead Road. I liked the one facing away from the road because I could see fields and woods behind the house roofs. It reminded me that there was another world out there, away from the empty cans of Coke at my feet. I gazed at the fields as I waited for Selena to answer but I just got the engaged tone all the time. I tried Tawni, who told me she'd heard Mrs Gomez's tests had gone OK but she would have to wait two weeks for the results. We both agreed we'd hate to wait that long and then chinned about other stuff until I'd run out of money and had to go back to The Close. I felt better after my talk with Tawni, though; more sociable.

'OK, Miss _can't cook won't cook's _here,' I announced on my return.

Mum was slamming the oven door shut. 'Don't bother, I'll do it,' she said off- handedly.

I glanced across at the window frame, half shiny white, half tobacco yellow. The brush was upended in a jam jar nearby, immersed in a half an inch of cloudy liquid. 'You don't have to,' I said.

'Peas or beans?' she asked through gritted teeth.

'Whatever's easier,' I replied, not flinching. You must never give in when they're guilt- tripping you.

'Peas it is, then.' In one swift movement she swivelled round and opened the freezer compartment, grabbed the Bird's Eyes and slammed the freezer door shut again. I put my hands on my hips and looked down at her over my imaginary varifocals. ' Young lady, if you have to be bad tempered don't take it out on my oven. Do you know how long it took your father and I to save up for that Zanussi?'

My imitation of Dad's mum, Margaret, never failed. Finally mum smiled , encouraging more mickey – taking. 'And what on earth have you done with your hair, Connie? You haven't had one of those tints on it, have you? Because you know you'll get alopecia, don't you? Remember Noel's Auntie Janet.'

Mum's hand automatically went to the bandana holding back her hair, patting it flat. I noticed her roots were showing, and looking nearly as bad as Portlyn Madison's. Mum hated root growth, and it dawned on me she couldn't even afford to go to the hairdresser's now. It was then it hit me just how bad things were. We'd lost our house, we were on Income Support, and we couldn't afford a telephone but it took Mum's root growth to finally bring it home to me. As for going to France: I didn't have a rat's chance and, like Demi's porridge this morning, I could like it or lump it.

I looked closely at my mum's face for the first time in ages; saw how she looked forty now but never had before, saw the brave flicker of her smile betrayed by the hurt in her eyes. 'Seriously, mum, I'll finish making the dinner,' I offered. It was all I could think of saying.

She shook her head. 'It's ok, I've started now. Get changed and then come and set the table. Tell Demi and Zora to wash their hands.'

'I love you, mum,' I said but kind of mumbling it under my breath. I think she heard but she'd already gone rummaging in one of the unloaded boxes for something and didn't reply.

Dad was working late, making it just the four of us for dinner. Zora and Demi were wolfing down their meal as if they'd just ended a twenty-four hour fast for Oxfam. 'These are cool,' Demi said, gnawing at the edges of her last dipper, then sticking it in ketchup, before nibbling again. ' Can we have them tomorrow?'

'It's my turn to choose tomorrow. We're having spaghetti,' Zora pointed out. 'Aren't we, mum, we're having spaghetti?'

Mum pointed to her mouth, indicating she couldn't talk because it was full. She had almost finished her meal, ahead of even speedy-guts Zora. That was another change; mum had gained weight over the last few months and it was beginning to be noticeable round her chin and hips and stomach. She'd taken to wearing baggy shirts and jogging bottoms all the time. Not that it mattered, it was just not like her. Dad had done the opposite – he'd lost weight, so that his trousers hung baggily round his bum and his neck had that scraggy turkey look.

'Selena's worried about her mum,' I revealed, knowing I was free of dad's _not-women's-things-please _look. 'She's found a lump in her breast.'

Mum's eyes filled with concern instantly. 'Oh, poor Mary. Has she been to the hospital?'

'She's been today to have it checked out. A biopsy or something?'

'Is a lump bad?' Zora asked.

'Course it is!' I replied sharply. 'Why don't you go watch TV?' I wanted to be alone with mum for once, to talk properly to her without sisters and dads butting in.

'Why is it bad?' Zora pursued.

'It's not something you need to know about,' I said.

Mum leaned across, gathering the empty plates. 'It's not necessarily bad news. Often lumps are just cysts or bits of fatty tissue that go away or can be taken out.'

'Taken out?' Zora persisted.

'By a doctor,' mum added.

'With a big, rusty carving knife,' I drooled.

That got rid of her. Middle sister slid from her chair and legged it, knocking her glass of squash over the table as she did so. Immediate red alert. Demi passed the dishcloth to mum, then scarpered. Mum began dabbing furiously at the orange liquid as it escaped in all directions over the precious heirloom's surface. Of course it was me who got it in the neck. 'I wish you wouldn't tease Zora, Sonny. She's growing up too, you know- you could take her a little more seriously,' mum snapped.

'Ok, ok, I'll go talk to her.'

She dabbed away without looking at me, mumbling about the table being 'the only decent thing we'd got'. I suppose that was my fault, too.


	9. I've got lumps

**SPOW**

Upstairs, Zora was face down on top of her bed, bawling her eyes out. I sat down next to her, trying to lift her arm away from her face but she told me to get lost. 'Come on, Zora, this is a bit over the top, isn't it?'

She cried harder, her shoulders heaving up and down. 'I was only kidding about the knife,' I said. 'Look, you've read enough _Point Horrors_ not to be scared of comments like that.' I stroked her hair, like I used to when she had nightmares.

'I've got lumps,' she said.

'What do you mean?'

'In my bosoms. I've got lumps.'

I tried not to laugh at her use of the word 'bosoms' and asked her again what she meant. She sat up, sniffing back her tears, and pointed to her chest. 'They don't hurt or anything but they're definitely lumps. Am I going to die like Selena's mum?'

'No,' I said, as it dawned on me what she meant. 'It just means you're developing. Do the lumps feel like little grapes behind your nipples?'

'Yes.'

'That's normal, I promise. You're growing up.'

The relief on her face was tremendous, poor kid. Mum was right; I had to start treating Zora with a bit of respect, especially if we were sharing a room. 'You'll probably start your periods soon,' I said to cheer her up.

She frowned. 'I don't want to, it looks too messy. I wouldn't mind wearing a bra, though. Megan Weeks wears a Wonderbra.'

'No, she doesn't.'

'She does!'

'Listen, sis,' I said, getting into this older/wiser sibling role, 'if you want to know anything, just ask me, not Megan Weeks, ok?'

'Ok,' she said, shuffling up and smiling, 'what's a dildo?'


	10. Little liar

**SPOW**

'So what did you sat to her?' Tawni laughed after I'd repeated Zora's question. We were waiting for Mr Whitehead to arrive for our lesson, first thing. She had the usual turrets sticking out of her head and I was trying to unknot the drawstrings of my bag without much success. 'Said there were some things even I didn't know yet and best to ask mum.'

'Oh, you little liar!' Tawni teased. 'Eh, have you brought your money for the French trip?'

'Er . . . no. I forgot,' the little liar lied.

'I've got to save up half my own spend!' she said indignantly. 'And I have to but mum some Chanel perfume on the ferry. Talk about mean. She's pushing it, that woman.'

Another girl from our set, Miley, joined in. 'Yeah, I know. I've got to use a hundred pounds of my savings if I want to go.'

A light bulb switched on in my head. Savings! I had savings. Somewhere, in a passbook, in The Important Papers/Where's the blinking passports? Drawer in mum and dad's bedroom, I had savings. Money Granddad Alan had left me when he died. Money I wasn't supposed to touch, until I was eighteen and ready for college. But this was educational, wasn't it? And I'd still have loads left over.

I felt elated. Even the sight of Chad Dylan Cooper, swaggering in with Nico, joining top set under very false pretences until the end of term, couldn't burst my bubble. Not even when he slapped a cheque for the full whack in Mr Whitehead's hand, staring at me all the time as if to say '_Take that, you stuck- up tart'_.

'Any more deposits for the trip before I begin the lesson?' Mr Whitehead asked.

My hand shoot up in the air. 'I'll bring mine by Friday,' I said loudly, mentally taking into account mum going into town, withdrawing the cash, bringing it home etc.

Mr Whitehead smiled, marking my name down on his list. 'At the latest, Sonny,' he warned. 'Any more? What about you, Nico? Aren't you joining your friend Chad?'

'Nah! Can't afford it- we're skint,' he said. There was a ripple of laugher round the room; not _at _him, but _with _him, for his openness. If I had to choose which one I'd rather be stuck in a lift with, Chad or Nico, it would be Nico. At least he had a brain. I remembered in Year Seven, when the class actually cared if we got merit marks or not, being neck and neck with him to be the first to achieve 'gold'. He beat me to it by delivering this tremendous speech in English about human rights and the teacher awarded him a record five merits in one hit. He had all the markings of a major boff-head but seemed to fade out in Year Eight and by Year Nine the conscientious Nico Harris had been replaced by the drongo Nico Harris on behind me. Punishment for hanging out with Cooper, I guessed.


	11. Nothing like the old house

**SPOW**

At lunchtime, still high from being able to participate in the trip like everyone else, I invited the gang over for 'chats' on Saturday. They hadn't been to THE Close yet, and if I was honest, I was a bit embarrassed about them seeing the place but I suppose they'd have to visit at some stage, so I risked it.

'Don't expect anything like the old house, though,' I began defensively, 'it's miles smaller and I have to share with Zora, so we might not get much privacy.'

'We don't care, Sonny, it's you we want to see,' Selena said. 'Anyway, it'll give me an excuse for getting out of the house. Mum's doing my head in with her: I- don't-want-to-discuss-things, routine. I mean it's not as if she can pretend it's not happening, like when dad was having his affair, is it?'

'Er . . . no,' I answered.

'Still no news from the hospital?' Grady asked.

Selena shook her head and looked away, her eyes filling with instant tears. Wrong time, wrong place to talk. I wished I still lived near her, so I could drop in like I used to, or at least had a phone so I could call he up. Being poor sucked.

Tawni linked her arm through Selena's and changed the subject. 'I've heard the youth centre on Newstead Road's really good on Saturdays. I think we ought to go, to help Sonny settle in and meet new people. You know how anti-social she is if she's left to her own devices.'

'And there's always a chance Chad might be there,' Selena added, managing a faint smile.

Tawni looked round, pretending to be offended. 'Did I mention him? Did I?'


End file.
